


Bloody Bandages

by LostCybertronian



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Markiplier TV, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform, danger in fiction, fluff?, he is my favorite Ego, the Host is traumatized probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 12:56:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12343125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostCybertronian/pseuds/LostCybertronian
Summary: The Author did not live . . .but the Host did.





	Bloody Bandages

**Author's Note:**

> I have fallen down another obsession hole . . .  
> I am so excited to see the rest of Who Killed Markiplier! It is so wonderfully well done. Anyone else think that we're the Host, writing a murder mystery, and that the Colonel is Wilford Warfstache and Damien HAS to be Dark?  
> (Also the Jim Twins have me in tears)  
> This work is also posted on my tumblr (LostCybertronian).

_Crack._  
A gunshot.  
 _No one is coming for you._  
Pain. Horrendous pain. Pain and waves of blackness encroaching on the edges of his vision.  
He didn't have much time left. He knew that. But still, the Author strained to reach his pen, which lay just beyond the tips of his fingers.  
If only he could reach it! He would write those two simple little words in black ink on his bruised, bloodstained skin. He would scratch them in the floorboards.  
Author lives.  
Author lives. Author lives. Author lives.  
He didn't realize he was speaking those words- screaming hoarse, broken words tumbling from his mouth, crumbling into dust before they even touched the floor- until a coppery tang filled his mouth and he hacked up mouthfuls of blood, cutting them short.   
He would live. He _had_ to.  
But he was alone, no help coming.  
"Hello, Author."  
The voice was smooth and calm. As it spoke the Author's surroundings flickered gray.   
The Author _knew_ that voice, somehow, and it filled him with terror and dread.  
He tensed, bracing himself for what he knew would happen next.   
It came as he expected: a pair of deathly cold hands seizing him and flipping him onto his back, causing him to give a ragged cry. Tears slipped down his cheeks.  
"Now, now." The man's fingers dug into the Author's skin, gray aura beginning to spread. "Don't be a crybaby. I'm here to _save_ you."  
His fingers dug deeper. The Author screamed and writhed against the man's grip, trying to escape, but he was weakening quickly and his struggles had zero effect.  
It felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. Like his mind was being invaded.   
"Relax." Darkiplier smiled, and something inside the Author recoiled from that awful, awful smile. "And wake up."  
___

"Wake up!"  
 _"Wake up,_ Host!"  
Hands- gentle, not steely and controlling like Dark's had been- wrestled him awake, and the Host found himself in familiar darkness once again.  
"The Host finds himself in the company of Dr. Iplier." Soft narrations fell from his lips as he attempted to establish where he was and what was happening.  
Dr. Iplier was with him. They were in the Host's library with the Host slumped in his desk chair and the doctor kneeling beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other using a cloth to wipe away the bloody tears flooding down his face.   
"The Host apologizes to Dr. Iplier for causing him the trouble and stands to bid him goodnight-" The Host went to stand, to leave, but Dr. Iplier nudged him back down.  
"No. Stay right there."  
The Host's hands trembled but he obeyed as the doctor finished wiping away the blood.  
After pocketing the cloth Dr. Iplier took one of the Host's hands gently in his own. "I heard you screaming."  
"The Host inquires as to why it matters."  
"You were having a nightmare about the Author again-"  
"The Author is dead." The Host interrupted, jerking away from Dr. Iplier's touch. "The Author died the day . . ." He trailed off.  
"Dark," Dr. Iplier murmured under his breath. Then he shook his head. "We don't have to talk about that now. But please" he glanced at the Host imploringly, "may I change your bandages and help you calm down?"  
He reached for the Host's hand again and, this time, the Host allowed him to take it and he allowed the doctor to help him stand and guide him to a couch that the Host had for when the other Egos came to visit.  
Toegther they sank down onto it, Dr. Iplier pulling a roll of gauze from one of the many pockets in his long, white coat. With slender fingers he removed the Host's crimson soaked bandages, replacing them with fresh white ones.   
After, he pulled the Host into a loose embrace, stroking his back soothingly.  
The Host continued to mumble quiet narrations, growing softer and softer until they trailed off into deep, even breaths and his head lolled against Dr. Iplier's shoulder.  
"It'll be okay," the doctor whispered before his eyes drifted shut and he was sound asleep as well.


End file.
